A Table For Two
by Cassie's Neighbor
Summary: Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase can't always be teenagers forever. A story chronicling their (mis)adventures as they try to figure out their place in the world where Olympus and gods and monsters stay in the shelves. A future fic.
1. Step 1: College

**A/N: Hi. I'm back. At least for a while.**

**I know, I know. I know I should have left this paradise if I wanted to move on to bigger and better paradises while I had the chance but strangely - after reading my betareader's (storyteller1425) stories - I had the sudden urge to write again. Also, I needed a catharsis for my extreme sadness here in college (man, has it only been three weeks?).**

**This is a more down-to-earth fic portrayal of Percy and Annabeth's future together, or at least I hope so. I think it's a good reflection of what I imagine will actually transpire for them in a few years if only Uncle Rick isn't concerned about polluting the mind of the youth, and since I'm not as concerned as he is, I thought I might give this a shot. **

* * *

**Title: **A Table For Two

**Summary: **Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase can't always be teenagers forever. A story chronicling their (mis)adventures as they try to figure out their place in the world where Olympus and gods and monsters stay in the shelves. A future fic.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Step 1: College**

Perseus "Percy" Jackson is not the brightest crayon inside the box, but who does care? He doesn't; the R&D team of Crayola and Lil' Hands sure don't.

_And coloring pencils are sure more elaborate in this era_, he once thought to himself.

Whether cerulean, yellow, or magenta, Percy was half-convinced that he does _not_ need a diploma, he will _not_ need a diploma, and – strictly speaking – _cannot_ get a diploma.

But here he is, carrying five overdue books to the library, with _Byzantium: The Early Centuries _hanging precariously at the nook of his arm. He curses at the sublime bureaucracy implemented in the hallways of Queens. It seems to him like a path towards the blackhole where no essence of happiness can ever escape, with the library as its focal.

He has always hated the librarian. With the upturned nose and the ever-present frown taped on her mandible, the old woman has always exuded impatience and a no-nonsense aura that a boy with a single overdue book sticking over the line sets off her alarm in a completely unpleasant way. It doesn't help much either that she (ironically) yells constantly, one of the telling signs she doesn't – and will never – have any kids.

"Jackson!" the librarian foghorns on his ear. Percy pulls back the urge to fire one of his hardbound books onto her withering forehead as he smiles. "Your card's runnin' a little low on space! You only 'ave _two_ a chance left and you'll be gettin' the boot!"

Time to switch on the good ol' Jackson charm. "See, this is why there's been a lot of 'additional ten slots on the Borrower's Overdue Card' on the slips of paper in the suggestion box."

She snorts. It never works. "Always in a hurry! Always forgettin' stuff! Couldn't even paste in mind _one_ goddam' date. There must be somethin' wrong with what y'all generation's been eatin' or y'all wouldn't be gettin' amnesia all of a sudden!"

"I mean, doesn't it totally defeat the purpose of having a suggestion box if the suggestions don't even get considered – or even _read_ – by the higher ups?"

"Enough stallin'!" the old woman shouts, her neatly cropped snow-white hair practically rising with static. Percy dryly images a Medusa and Thalia hybrid. With white hair and false teeth.

She forcefully takes the books from his arm, and scans the product ID from each book and Percy's library card. Percy's unsmiling face appears, with a $45 notice below. He cringes; there goes his dinner money for his only Wednesday splurge night at Chili's.

The elder notices this and smiles what should have been a sweet smile. "A lesson for y'all to learn today! Go get your memory fixed, Sonny! And your pants, while you're at it! Oh goodness, kids these days! Always irresponsible! Always –"

Percy shuts himself out from what seemed to be a profanity of always-es, taking out his wallet and placing five tens on the counter. He refuses to sigh the heaviest of sighs, not wanting the hag on his front making an eight-sentenced statement on it either.

This college thing is time-wasting, arduous, and _costly_. Very costly. He can't remember the last time he heard his spine and scapula not protesting on the constant pressure he gets placed on for his four part-time jobs and the senior counseling back at Camp Half-Blood. Although it partly mattered that his mother and stepfather are (as they have said) proud of him and that Chiron gave him an encouraging nod and a pat at the back, if it weren't for the danger that he would never survive for another ten years without something of a semblance of an education and/or a job, he would be flipping Queens College's chancellor the finger.

Not to mention the gray-eyed blonde who he swears has surveillance on him every single minute, and who would mercilessly gut him like a salmon if he ever quits on his third year.

He blames Annabeth Chase for everything that transpired in the last three years and, consequently, if he is being honest to himself, owes her everything. Not even her mom raised the platform for his taking Ancient and Modern Greek Studies, no. She is him in almost every way. But Annabeth did. Oh, that scary, overcritical lady drilled him for SATs, essays, and campus hunting. As much as getting into MIT proved to be incredible, getting Percy Jackson to admit – and to _pass_ – for CUNY Queens is no small feat either. Gods only know how much studying, arguing, bribing (and kissing) the couple had to go through to be where they are now.

He misses her. That he can be honest to the gods about.

University students are animals, predators. The teachers and the staff too. Basilisks and chimeras, every single one of them. Even with the dyslexia and ADD aside, it is hard to catch up. He can feel all those arithmetic, logarithmic, and analytic skills he had missed and ignored in his primary and secondary years coming back to bite him in the ass, and gods it _hurt._ He feels like a bubblehead amidst the crowd, except the place where a brain should be has been replaced with nothing but helium, and the fact that he's taking a course where he should be considerably knowledgeable about but, apparently, still lags on is a big statement on its own.

She tries calling him back, really. Sometimes it will take a few days for them to properly talk. Other times, weeks. He understands fully. MIT is known for pushing their students to the brink of insanity, with momentary sneak peeks to Hades' vast realm during the Novembers and the Marchs. He teases her about these lapses, mostly because he likes getting a rise out from her, and partly because he likes the cute red-faced daughter of Athena when she's embarrassed about to her "ineptitude". What he doesn't mention is how worried he is.

Yes, he's _absolutely _worried.

About college. About jobs. About the _fucking_ future. Some sanctuary for the savior of the earth and western civilization should be in order, but no. Not really, no. Reality tsks and tsks in its spare time, and it guarantees no exceptions. He worries about chasing the A in Social Sciences II everyone covets. He worries about Danny in isle six back at Walter's, about whether he will be back from his leave or will he have to cover for him again for five hours doing menial stuff like scanning product bars from groceries. He worries about his mother, about Paul. He worries if there ever would be another whole-scale invasion in Olympus that he has to watch out, prepare and die for. He worries whether Annabeth's doing all right on her own.

It's hilarious, his worrying. He knows it, but somehow he can't refrain himself from refusing the recliner. She's a big girl, and if anything, they both know he should be more worried about his own welfare. However, their trip to the infamous Tartarus did have its long-lasting effects; his eyes would constantly dart from side to side whenever the AVR rooms went dark, and he instinctively searches for a pair of hands that he frustratingly knows won't be there.

A cherry on top: he feels impossibly _stupid_. Not just dumb. Not just as a seaweed-brained idiot. He feels very, _very_ stupid. i.e.: the forest grump and Megan Fox. It must be from the dry, academic air he still hasn't gotten used to in his three years stay, but one has to think otherwise. And he wonders whether Annabeth will ever get to the part where she breaks up with him because he has proven he can never achieve something that involves walking down the aisle, wearing a flowing toga and diploma within arm's reach. Or _when_ will she get to the part.

He doesn't say anything about his qualms, though. He's the Hero of Olympus.

~0~

When Percy does get the answers to the questions that kept nagging in his head for years, he's not sure if he should be happy or not.

One day, Annabeth jumps from her seat and on him, knocking the wind out from his chest. This momentary un-Annabeth behavior evaporates as fast as it came, and the look she gives him did not slip a proof that she enveloped him in a hug a second earlier. "You said you'd be here by 8."

At this, Percy almost laughs. "A co-worker's still not back from Norway. I had to cover for his Norwegian ass."

"Who's covering for _your_ ass when I'll shove a stick inside it?" she takes the box of brownies from Percy and settles it on the table top. "The pasta I ordered is already cold."

"You ordered pasta? Since when did you ever accept ordering pasta as a norm?" Percy eyes her, his eyebrows rising.

"I have had a craving for Italian. Don't spoil it."

Annabeth's apartment is sleek, neat, and cool as always. Percy inspects the kitchen. Everything is in exact order except for the unopened cans of soup that loiter near the sink. The frying pans are hung on a wooden pole Percy once made for her during a monster-infested trip to the Bahamas (he's still unsure of why she keeps it when she has always declared the thing as an "abomination of wood stands"). The refrigerator is as tall as he, and it takes up more than half of the space it needs to be. The tiled floor gives somewhat of an effervescence that lightens up the room, and he supposes it's not only because he finally sees her for about four months of absolute Chase deprivation.

"How's Archi?" he starts.

Annabeth groans without trepidation, and she gingerly opens the lid from the box of carbonara and garlic bread. "They're horrible; ask me to whiplash a Titan instead and I'd take it any day. They are _so _uptight, and I can't believe they thought of my pillar designs as unorthodox." She scoffs the last word as if it is some kind of mental illness. "They're damn conservatives – that's what they are. And I'll fucking prove to them that _that _kind of attitude begets untrimmed buildings and world hunger. I mean, what the hell do they think the beams on the trenches were for? Stripper haven?"

They've been together for so long Percy practically blocks everything that sounded inconsequential to him besides the curses, and for that he replies a straight "You tell 'em!".

Annabeth rambles on, knowing that her significant other will let all rants flow from one ear to another but finds herself not caring. She can't complain on campus about anything whether she likes it or not, and it's nice to have someone who may or may not be listening to tell everything she has gotten dammed in her chest. "And d'you remember that pock-marked guy with the unkempt goatee? The one who got you kicked out from the dormitory on the first weeks? Yeah, yeah. Him. I ran onto him the other day and you know what? He getsme. He fucking _gets _me. But _they _said he was 'completely mental' to accept my proposal. Why ask me to architect the mural if they're not going to let me take care of my own project in the first place?

"Percy, your sauce. It's dripping on your pants."

Percy looks up from his reverie and stares at her numbly. "Huh? What?"

She rolls her eyes and pointedly looks at the white substance accumulating on his crotch. Yes, they really have been together for so long, however it may take twice or thrice as long for Annabeth to get used to his not listening to her when they're talking about school or architecture.

Annabeth hands him a paper towel right across the table, and he smothers his clothed ego with it. Good thing the sauce isn't as hot as it should have been.

She decides to ignore the blunder and asks: "And how about you, Oh Great Perseus Jackson? What have you been up to for the last couple of weeks? Gotten any sleep?"

It is unfortunate for him to say that he hasn't. Constantly plagued with reoccurring nightmares and lengthy lectures to remember, Percy hadn't gotten a wink of sleep for three days. The week before that, he only slept for a maximum of four, and another six. And the worst part was:

"I think I might have to drop Greek Archeology, Annabeth. I'm seriously getting nowhere with it, and the prof's a serious rash – you know where I'm coming from right?"

That got the reaction he was expecting. They stare down at each other for a few seconds until Annabeth breaks the silence, eyeing him skeptically. "I don't know, Seaweed Brain. It's a total of five units right? If you drop it in the middle of the semester, you might be held back a year, and that's me being quite optimistic – "

"It's just a year," he soothes. "I can totally catch up."

What he doesn't say is that he's planning on dropping _all_ of his subjects before the deadline of dropping at the registrar comes.

He remembers seeing the grading sheet, with all the numbers that would certainly make Athena faint. And her daughter would definitely faint too, if she saw it. He questions whether it matters if he got to finish college alongside Annabeth. He has the whole Greek world falling apart in his tow; he's busy enough putting out the fires. Does he have to suffer too in the mortal world?

"But Percy – "

"What's the point of all this, anyway?" Percy claims, repeating the question inside his head. "I mean, it's not like this is what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. I don't even get why Machiavelli gives a crap about Plato – who the hell does? That's just fucking obscure. And this is about me getting a shitty job?"

"You're totally missing the point," Annabeth counters.

He snorts without thinking, and he regrets it instantly as he sees Annabeth dropping her fork and giving him a full-on glare. He can feel the arrows waiting to penetrate the target he just painted on his forehead.

"I thought we've talked about this," she says, her voice rising. "We go to college, get degrees, get jobs, and take on whatever course nature – or the gods – wants us to take."

_That is so unfair!_ the child in Percy shouts at the top of his imaginary miniature lungs, and he agrees as he is swept by the moment. This kind of life isn't for him, isn't for them. They are son and daughter of the immortal gods – the great Greek gods of Olympus. They are anything but ordinary, and trying to be what they aren't is totally against what "course nature wants us to take" Annabeth has been preaching about. "But haven't you noticed that it's not working out for me? For any of us? Come on, Annabeth. This is something we can't fit in into. We're lucky we even got this old, and look at the multiple scars?"

Her lips are set in a grim line. "This isn't about fitting in. We are trying to _live_ with what we have. With what we're off – "

"There. You're totally ignoring me –

"And you were not, just ten minutes ago?"

"Double backslash there, Annabeth. Look at it from my perspective. The New Rome – "

"We are not Romans, Percy!" she yells, her eyes a gray blaze of rage. "It's a sanatorium for _Roman _demigods who can't take a beating in the real world! And even if there's a Greek equivalent of that shiny 'Utopia' or whatever the fuck whoever conjured that idea called it, I'm telling you there is no way we can ever get to be happy and contented there! You want to die young? You want to go die doing nothing except live in this fantasy world where we get to fight monsters all the time? Oh wait, don't tell me. You want to slap high-fives with Dionysus over a cup of stale beer in your everlasting land of peace and hangovers." A rolling thunder follows the lightning strike that comes and Annabeth ignores this. "This is nothing about living up to your glorious legacy! We're not kids anymore, don't you get it? We can't always have ballpoint pens turning into swords and hacking monsters into ashes! We're not kids, and we can't be.

"Tell me." Annabeth's eyes are swimming with unshed tears; a testament of how frustrated she is is that she doesn't turn around to wipe them away. "Why is it that you always make these things personal?"

Percy's mouth drops down, shocked. "What?"

"Why is it, at the end of the day, everything is all about you? Why is that?" She turns away, hurriedly locking the door of her room with more force than deemed necessary.

What? _What?_

The war in Percy Jackson's head does not abate a little, nor does the pudgy general of arms order his men to put down their weapons.

_Why is it, at the end of the day, everything is all about you?_

He's an idiot, but not in this terms. He decides to clean up the dishes as smoothly as he can, puts the leftovers inside the fridge and crash at the couch after turning off the lights, waiting for Annabeth's better day.

~0~

"Hey. Could you please move your head? Just a little? There, thanks."

Percy can recognize this voice anywhere, especially in the dark. He helps himself sit up from the couch, rubbing his sore eyelids. "Uhh. Annabeth? Are you alright?"

"Couldn't sleep," she answers simply.

"Okay."

They sit together for the next thirty minutes leaning onto each other on the couch, not saying a word, clothed by the darkest of darkness. Even in one o' clock in the morning, Middlesex County still buzzes with life – a feat that can never rival the Big Apple nor the holy land of Hollywood, but still a worthy competitor. Although San Francisco and Massachusetts differ in a gamut of aspects, the buildings, the street people, the constant round-and-about supply of tourists make Annabeth feel less homesick.

"Are you leaving me?"

The way Percy breaks the silence makes Annabeth's head do a painful one-eighty degree turn on him in all of her surprise. It doesn't help much that she heard the quiver in his voice when he queried.

"What? _Why?_" Annabeth sits erect, turns up the lamp on the nightstand next to the couch. Percy's face is strong, immovable, removed. The only giveaways to his supposed calm are his pallid cheeks and anxious eyes. Anxious sea green eyes that are searching for answers in her own. "Why are you asking me that?" she repeats.

He gives him a shrug that she thinks is supposed to be a nonchalant one. "I'm just curious. Are you tired of me? Because I can go away for a while, you know. Groveling, granted, because I'll still always come back for you but – "

She cuts him off by putting three fingers on top of his lips, arching an eyebrow. Annabeth doesn't know whether it is best to laugh or to get mad at him. "Perseus Jackson, are you actually being _serious_?"

"Yes."

She sighs. "No. I'm not."

"But you sighed."

"What about it?"

"It was a sad sigh."

"I can't _believe _you have the audacity to go technical on me."

"I'm just saying – "

"No." She takes his hand and squeezes it firmly, along with a promise. "No, I'm not."

It takes a minute before Percy responds with a sigh and a silent squeeze of his own. "Well, that's a relief."

"But why ask me this?" She looks up at him.

Again, he shrugs. "I just thought that, you know, maybe if I fail – I'm not saying that I am, but I will, I mean – come on, Annabeth. It's practically inevitable. But if I do… I'm just weighing the chances whether you'd want some hoodlum like me within ten inches near you." Not to mention that every single day the I AM STUPID neon sign is almost palpable on his head.

"Are you saying that you thought I'll break up with you if you never got around finishing college or got a job at Goldman Sachs for that matter?" There is a hysterical note in her voice that, somehow, she only reserves for him.

"That is a very nice – if not excessive – way of putting it."

She grins, then lets out a chortle. And she laughs, the tears she managed to clock back from her eyes run in streams with good excuse. The gush of air is almost painful though she welcomes it freely. Percy doesn't interject even if it's at his expense; he likes hearing her laugh. Now, more than ever.

"What gave you that idea?" she snickers.

"I just thought that you don't want to be with a guy who can't get an education. A stupid guy."

"And?"

"Oh, come on, smarty pants. Don't patronize me."

"I'm not, I'm not. And I think you never got the memo: it'd take a thousand Jacksons to even tick me off from the wire, and no, maybe not even then."

"That sounded horribly sexy."

"You are such a man."

His laugh is cut short with a whooping cough, and he sighs again, feeling one-sixth of the worry weight being lifted from his shoulders. Percy absentmindedly twirls a lock of Annabeth's hair in rapid succession. It tickles her a little, but she doesn't mention it.

"I'm sorry for calling you selfish." She thinks it is her time to start now.

He throws her a very lopsided grin. "No, it's okay. You were right. I was being mean and selfish. Though you do have to give me some credit here. I'm not technically invulnerable from making bad choices, and I'm afraid that if I do get to that station, it's not only me who's getting run over."

"Oh."

They fall silent again.

"We're going to be okay, right?" he asks her, a little hesitant.

"Yes, Percy. We are."

Percy looks at her inquiringly. "You sound awfully sure."

She tilts her head to meet his eyes, and the other five sixth of the heaviness disappears. Annabeth smiles softly. "I am."

At that, he knows. This isn't personal.

He finally leans on his metaphysical recliner, taking Annabeth's hand in his.

Because he believes her, believes _in _her, in him, and in them. Because _for once_, this isn't really about him. This is about her. About _them_. There can only be one rockstar in a relationship, and definitely only one who wears the pants. If Annabeth's holding the lamp and leading the way, then what is there for him to be afraid of?

This is about them. And they're going to be just fine.

"If you still haven't changed your mind, I heard from Jason that New Rome has room for two more bed spacers. Want to give him a ring?"

"You're an idiot."

The rumble of heavy laughter coming from his chest vibrates on Annabeth's tender head, and for a moment, with his arm unconsciously draped protectively around her waist, it is the most comforting feeling in the world.

~0~

**Next Chapter: Step 2: Dates**

* * *

**A/N: It may take long for me to update, but you know what they say: I'll try. Thank you for reading. Please read and review!**


	2. Step 2: Dates

**A/N: Shocked? I know I am when I sent this document a **_**week**_** early than I've intended to my beta. I also can't believe I have this thing called 'free time' to write this down before it escapes me – by this time of the year I was expecting that I would have little or no time for writing. I'm still wondering if this is a good thing.**

**Speaking of good stuff, I am **_**overjoyed**_** that I got a lot of PMs wondering why I decided to come back from my hiatus, assuming none of you are mad that I'm writing again. And I would like to take this opportunity to answer some of the FAQs about me that needed clearing up, just in case someone's gonna waste their time asking the same questions again.**

**Yes, I'm sixteen. Yes, I'm currently in college under a pre-medical course. No, I most certainly am **_**not **_**a genius, nor a member of MENSA. In the Philippines, eighteen-year-olds have the right age demographic to go to college, but I belong to the old system, which dictates that sixteen-year-olds can also qualify to attend a university (and if you're a genius, you can get by as young as eleven or twelve). One can only do as much wishful thinking as the next guy, but unfortunately, no. Average height, average looks, average intellect. If you need reports about the world's most average person, then you've got the right specimen: me.**

**I do think of myself as a diligent person, and I sometimes study hard. I'm also proud to say that I got to attend the university I was aiming for. I've always wanted to be an engineer just like Tony Stark (who has been a role model to me and urged me to study harder), but my parents told me that we have **_**hundreds**_** of engineers in our lineage and no doctor. So here I am.**

**By the way, this is going to be a _light_ chapter. No angst for this story. Yet.**

**Special thanks to my most capable beta reader, storyteller1425, for her extreme gungho-ness in proofreading and her optimistic view when it comes to dealing with me. In totality: she's awesome. I'm the luckiest gal in the Eastern Hemisphere.**

* * *

**Chapter 2: Step 2: Dates**

"I can't believe he got you reservations to the Promenade!"

The daughter of Athena laughs at the completely astounded face of Apollo's twenty-one-year-old Oracle, gaping at the huge dinner ticket with French words inscribed in gold letters. Annabeth only knows a handful of French from her high school years, and she can only discern the words _cordially invited_ and _promenade_. "He said that someone from work owed him a favor, and that that someone has some connections with Chef Randy – you know, the big guy in those TV commercials about fine dining equipment? Yeah, him – and he works part-time in the Promenade. So he pulled a few strings to get Percy and me to dinner this Saturday night; isn't that great?"

Rachel snickers. "Now that I know the backstory it all the more sounds romantic." She eyes the tickets with a hint of envy. "I've always wanted to eat there, but my dad said it's a little pretentious, you know? Your boyfriend's not half bad."

Annabeth stops at the _boyfriend_ for a minute, then continues slicing the lasagna in half. She parts them into small, white ceramic plates and offers the redhead with a fork.

"Speaking of amazing boyfriends, where is Percy? Is he off saving kittens from trees again?"

"I think he went venturing to less dangerous waters."

"Went off to hunt down the Crimean wild boar?"

"Most likely."

"Don't you find it weird," Rachel says, crinkling her forehead a little as she clocks a hand to her chin. She's wearing a bit too thin of clothing for the fall season, with a ratty tatty green scarf draped across her neck. Her brown coat that she left to dry on the coat hanger is full of red and blue markings and textile ink stains, probably from the 22nd Annual Street Art Rally Rachel goes to back at Vermont, Annabeth surmises. "That he's gotten more… adrenaline junkie? Or a little disturbing?"

The blonde throws her a look. "You know he's always been like that."

"Is he now?" Her best friend doesn't sound convinced. "Must've been spending too much time in the cave."

"Ha ha."

"You're nervous." Rachel smiles.

"Am not."

"Don't worry about it, come on. It's only three days away; you still have time to prepare."

Annabeth stabs her lasagna relatively hard with her fork and points a knife at her. "I am not nervous."

"Your lasagna's crying."

"Real mature, Dare – "

"Look at the sad, creamy pasta tears! Oh, Annabeth! Why art thou so cruel?"

"Lest thou wants four holes in thy chest, I think the lasagna would fare better than thou."

"You're hilarious."

"You need to stop picking on me when it comes to dating."

"I'm not picking on you! It's just that… do you even want to go on this date?"

"Yes," Annabeth answers, a little bit too quickly. "Yes. Yes, I do."

"I'm sensing a 'however' and a 'but'," Rachel quips merrily. She's having some fun messing around with certain daughters of Athena these days.

"Well," she contemplates, looking up to worry at the condensation forming at the window behind Rachel Dare. "It's been a year since he properly took me out to dinner, and it's the _first_ time he'll take me out to somewhere fancy, can you believe that? We've been together for a long time – "

"Not too long to get a crack out of this relationship, if you ask me – "

" – and yes, relationship-wise, I think ours got a lot of things written all over it. We're not exactly _normal_, Rachel, if you've heard the daily news at Channel 7. We fight monsters as our part-time jobs, and our part-time jobs are kind of a household chore bore. We have _Greek gods_ as parents for heaven's sake. Our hobbies consist of taking a walk at the park and avoiding spits of fire from a drakon. Isn't that a little too thin ice to be a foundation for a relationship?"

When Annabeth stops to breathe for a second, Rachel starts cracking up. Her face starts getting the wild, sickly color of her bronze hair, and she's clutching her stomach for her dear life. The blonde one thinks the prospect of four holes in the red one's chest starts to look oddly appealing.

"You hypercritical bitch!" Rachel exclaims in between gasps. "Gods, why do you have this destructive tendency to overthink these things? Seriously woman, you're going to grow old like Denise Richards, although not as hot and as slutty. He's taking you to _dinner_, Annabeth! That's basically a step up on the relationship ladder and, _Dare_ I say it, a much better alternative than skewering a wild boar and sacrificing the innards to your mom. Look at it from a cursed-to-be-forever-single-and-never-ready-to-min gle Oracle's perspective. I'm spouting green goo right now in between my eyes to be in that kind of circumstance."

Annabeth cocks an eyebrow.

"Okay. Maybe I don't want someone like Percy for my own, but Annabeth, dearest. The guy is _nuts_ about you, euphemistically speaking. Isn't that supposed to be enough?"

She sighs inwardly and bobs her head. Maybe.

~0~

"Annabeth?"

"Don't say a word."

"Honey – "

"I'll kill you."

Percy laughs out loud, a deep throaty one, and it permeates in the serene atmosphere of the five-star restaurant. A couple of older ones give them a few, lingering stares. The hostess tries hard not to crack a smile.

Laundry shops are overrated, and Annabeth vows never to resort to their officious establishments ever again, especially now that they've messed up one of the most important days of her life. Her envisioning of herself in a dark purple cocktail dress with strappy four-inch heels rearranges itself to a much darker turn in reality where the former heads for the paper shredder. Cursing beneath the yellow lights of the streets, Annabeth shows up in a simple ensemble of jeans, an MIT hoodie, and a pair of (reasonably fashioned) Vans.

Percy's another thing to consider. Dressed in a sleek black tux, he's practically Mr. Desirable for Times magazine three years running. Cropped, smoothed with conditioner, and then hardened by gel, his hair looks like it had been licked by an angel. But the smile on his face, no matter how dazzling, just frazzles Annabeth's already frazzled nerves.

"If it's any compensation, you look amazing."

Annabeth tries to smother him to death with her glare. "We would like to head for our table," she says, turning to the maître d'.

"Right this way, miss," a quick and smooth reply comes. As they seated, there are already three servers at their every beck and call, and Annabeth amuses herself by imagining them as the three idiot Laistrygonians Percy and she defeated back in seventh grade, christening them as Joe Bob, Marrow Sucker, and Skull Eater. The way they stood with their rippling muscles held back makes her grin, but not enough to placate the irritation aimed at herself.

And the boy watching her with a mixture of hilarity and confusion.

"I'm guessing today did not go well as planned."

"Faulty dry cleaning service," she deadpans. "Seriously can't find a decent one in this kind of town."

The sides of Percy's lips click upwards. "Well, I wasn't lying a second ago, if you're asking. I, uh, like your hair."

"Thanks."

"You brought it down."

"How observant."

"You want to order?"

"Sure."

As soon as the word 'order' rolls off from Percy's tongue, Joe Bob flips his tickler open and takes out the pen from his ear. "What is it that you'd like, monsieur?" he says in one of Promenade's "cultural" accents.

The waiter looks so official and ridiculous in his ensemble that Percy has a hard time taking him and this place seriously. He tilts his head to his date, gesturing her to pick first.

The variety of delicacies is immense; Annabeth has to stop herself from letting her eyes bug out from their respective sockets and make a reasonable choice. It's not the first fancy restaurant she's eaten in, however the number of times she even ate out that didn't serve Sloppy Joes and greasy fries with Fantastic Four Happy Meals falls from eight to none. "I'll take um, the escargot, the roast duck and the Coquilles St. Jacques…? The one with the scallops?"

Percy raises an eyebrow at this but doesn't comment.

The waiter nods. "Would you like some champagne, mademoiselle?"

"Just white wine, please."

"And you, sir?"

"Same thing, without the scallops, of course. Oh, and throw in a good ol' crème brulee there, please," Percy responds.

"Dinner will be served in less than fifteen minutes," Joe Bob tells them as he clips his pen behind his earlobe, moving away. "If you have any concerns at all, don't hesitate to give us a ring."

When the server was out from earshot, the green-eyed boy spreads his palm at the immaculate table and stares at the girl across her. "But you hate scallops."

She offers him a shrug. "I just wanted to try something new, since it's all fancy and stuff."

Percy whistles happily. "Since when did the bad-ass Annabeth Chase replacement come to town?" he jokes. "I like her."

Her boyfriend can be so silly sometimes. She just shakes her head. "So." She waves her hand, signaling the end of the previous conversation. "How was your day?"

"Pretty bad, actually. I had to trek cross-country to chase a couple of birds away from Arizona. Had to resort to Nico shadow-traveling me in different areas."

"Birds?"

"You know. The one with the ugly beaks and beady eyes and man, they're bigger than Condors – and I've seen those freakish things back at California. I had to even ride one. Blackjack must be jealous – "

"Stymphalian Birds?"

"Yeah! That's the one. This is crazy; how come you can always remember those kinds of things? Huh, must be something from sprouting out from your mother's skull."

"You just… don't pay enough attention to things." Annabeth chuckles. "You'll get it someday."

"Annabeth, we've been together for nine years. You think if I can catch the Brainiac disease, I would have caught it by now?"

She doesn't point out that they've only been _officially_ together for five years, if you don't count the mishaps they've had since they were twelve, so she continues "Then it must be from the parentage."

"Are you saying Dad's dumb?"

She doesn't need the blare of lightning outside to object. "Oh, no! I think it's just that… Mom's just a little smarter than the usual goddess. Or god."

They start talking in hush tones as their food comes in. The server places their meals promptly on their table (covered with $400 linen, imported from Swaziland. Huge thanks, economy!), dutifully asks the standard "Is there anything you would like to add, sir?", and Percy responds with a polite "No, but thanks."

Both Percy and Annabeth eye the scallops with disdain, deliberating whether they take a couple of shellfish inside of them or not, but as she takes the final step towards the surface of the moon, her eyes flicker like a bulb lighting up.

"Oh my gods, they're actually good!"

Percy laughs with relief suspiciously lacing the sound. He takes a bite of his own, and makes an approving noise at the back of his throat. "That's nice. Good to know we won't waste $55 on nothing."

They continue eating in silence as they marvel at the plethora of delicious French food placed before them, and they (Percy) choose to ignore the huge, invisible price tag looming at each plate. There is a whole wheat bread placed at the table before they even sat down, and the aroma it sends makes the whole dinner ambience even more heavenly.

From an outsider's point of view, they look terribly mismatched, with Annabeth's Vans and Percy's borrowed Italian leather shoes. But take away the table, the rich cloth, Percy's suit, the scallops, the weight lifter-like servers, and you'd be left with –

"Percy?"

"Yeah?"

"I got myself a cat."

He blinks. "You what?"

"A cat."

"Yeah, yeah. I heard you the first time." Percy says, scratching his head. "I think I'm asking you why."

"Well, you know how the apartment gets when school starts. And there was this cute tabby cat, prowling on my kitchen drawers a few weeks ago when I came home. I only saw its backside, but then it turned around and I almost yelped because it had a dead mouse in its mouth and since then I've been seeing it every night and I thought that, since he likes hanging out here I might as well adopt him."

"And you took him in."

"Oh, Percy, you should have seen the look on Ody's face! He was so distraught – "

"I didn't know cats can look distraught. Animal Planet said so." He frowns. "Ody?"

"Ody. From Odysseus. Seriously, Percy – "

"You named a cat after a guy who got the Trojans killed?"

"I'll have you know that Odysseus was a very smart warrior!" Annabeth ripostes. "He got through 10 years lost at sea, and Mom liked him very much."

"I can see the pattern."

"You don't like cats?"

Percy shakes his head lightly. "No. No, I do like them. Who in _Hades_ doesn't like cats? I mean, people can be allergic to them but it's, like, basically _impossible_ not to _not_ dislike the furry fuzzballs, anyway. It's just that there is no way _now_ that I'm letting you name our kids."

There. Another slip. An awkward silence ensues as Annabeth's cheeks turn into prize-winning tomatoes.

The very embarrassed son of Poseidon clears his throat, attempting to rescue himself from an untimely stumble. "Uhh, I did read about the story about him and his wife. Penelope, right?"

"You're kidding me; _I_ read that story to you."

"Oh. Right."

"Although I must say I'm surprised you got her name right."

"It's the one out of the hundred stories you told me that I didn't fall asleep in the middle."

"I applaud you," she remarks dryly. "It's actually one of my favorites."

At that, Percy's eyes crinkle a little as he smiles a genuine smile – if not all his smiles are genuine – at her. "Yeah. It's mine, too. You don't get a lot of tragic stories with happy endings here, you know. Sometimes you crave it once in a while."

Annabeth agrees. Maybe Rachel was right.

~0~

**Next Chapter: Step 3: Getting Arrested**

* * *

**A/N: Please read and review! All thoughts are appreciated.**


	3. Step 3: Getting Arrested

**A/N: I should be studying for my Chemistry exam. But I can't. I just can't. I think all of the things I learned from the AP classes I took when I was in high school got flushed with the rest of my green poo last summer.**

**Another whimsical, if not nonsensical, chapter. Please pardon the writer; she had too much caffeine and no definite plot in her system. I'll reply to all of your reviews ASAP (which means after exam week commences).**

**Thank you very much to storyteller1425 for her (extremely) decisive betareading! I just hope that as the story progresses, I'm not ruining her summer in the process. Have I mentioned before that she's awesome? Really? I did? Can I say that she's awesome one more time?**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Step 3: Getting Arrested**

"Percy?"

"Oh. Hey, Annabeth. Wait, why aren't you calling from your phone? Something wrong?"

"How far are you from Middlesex?"

"ETA's about four minutes to your apartment. We had free-cut in Geography – a trusted source said Prof. Weinburger contracted herpes and had to take a leave. Everything all right?"

"Um, I need you to drop by at Middlesex County – "

"_What?_ Why?"

" – because I've been held up here for a few hours and they aren't budging and I really need your – "

"Holy Zeus, Annabeth! Who's they? And dare poop tell why you're in a _city county_ for gods' sakes."

"Percy, gods, we don't have time for – are you already in the apartment?"

"Uhh, no, actually. I stopped a few blocks away when you freakin' dropped the bomb about you being _arrested_, and I don't want Paul getting all Medusa on me for slamming his hatchback on a fire hydrant – "

"Shit, Percy, you have to hurry to my apartment – !"

"You said I have to go to Middlesex Coun – "

"NO! UGH! JUST GET MY EMERGENCY ATM CARD BACK AT THE APARTMENT! I NEED TO BAIL MYSELF OUT BUT I CAN'T DO THAT BECAUSE THEY WON'T LET ME OUT AND THEY DON'T HAVE TELLERS INSIDE THIS FREAKIN' RATHOLE AND I ONLY HAVE ONE CALL – "

"Annabeth, baby, please don't freak out. Calm down. Don't worry, don't worry; I'll get you out. Man, you ladies shriek like a banshee; I fucking can't feel my eardrums anymore."

"Would you _please_ hurry?"

"Your wish, my command. I'm already at the doorstep. Now, where's the fucking spare – aha! I'm coming in, Annabeth. I'm coming inside your apartment. Here, here, here – um, where'd you put the card again?"

"It's in my sock drawer."

"You have a drawer for your socks?"

"GET THE FUCKING CARD ALREADY OR I'LL RIP YOUR – !"

"Alright, alright! Sheesh, I was just a – okay, got it. Now, where to?"

"There's a teller a few yards away in a convenience store. Please get ten grand and a few hundreds – "

"Your bail's _ten thousand dollars_? What the Hades – "

"Are you there yet?"

" – is wrong with –oh, I'm almost there. Give me a minute. Okay… Mother of Zeus, how do you work this thing? Jeez… Uh, Annabeth? The thing is asking for your PIN. What's your PIN?"

"…"

"Annabeth, this machine is totally haranguing me for your six numbers."

"…"

"I thought we don't have – "

"It's your birthday."

"My _what_?"

"Your birthday. _Our_ anniversary. That enough of an explanation for you? _Please_ cash out my bail, Percy."

"Okay."

"…"

"…"

"Done?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it's done. I'm just… surprised how much you've amassed from designing New Olympus. But, wait, I thought the gods paid you with drachmas."

"There's a money changer at the left wing of the headquarters for the Muses."

"Oh."

"Give me an ETA, Percy. I'm really sorry, but I'm _really_ freaking out."

"So I've heard. Umm… I'll be there in thirty minutes, if I'm in the mood to follow Middlesex's speed limit. Which I'm not."

"Okay. Thank you."

"So, what happened?"

"Ugh, Percy, everything was so sudden! I've been telling the guards that I can't be in jail or I'll lose my scholarship – or my eligibility at MIT for that matter – but they aren't budging, like I told you before, and they said the only thing that is within _my rights_ is that I can have one phone call – and thank the gods you picked up on the first ring."

"Annabeth?"

"Uh-huh?"

"I'm still waiting for you to tell me what happened."

"Well, I was hoping we could talk about this when I'm out of here, but all right. There's this huge gridlock a few miles after I got off from MIT. I was at the front-liners, and there was this huge truck full of crates of vegetables and there were farm animals and they fell off from the – "

"Farm animals?"

"Yeah! And they were pretty weak-looking ones, too. I saw the owner and the driver of the truck come out when the lock from the backside gave away. And they looked funny; long noses and sagging cheeks and all that. They walked funny. Then I noticed their faces morphed and morphed and morphed, and then I realized that the distortion was because of the _Mist_. I had my knife ready, and then – "

"You attacked the monsters and the mortals thought that you were dislodging real human beings so they got you arrested?"

"Uhh, no. That actually didn't happen."

"…"

"…"

"… I'm lost."

"Well, I had a momentary backtrack and then I realized that they were Monopods. Greek traders. Monsters, yes, but harmless ones."

"So?"

"So, I didn't attack. But there was this traffic-control police guy, and he was _yelling_ at the two cows and the goats about how slow they were, and I got irritated. And then he started kicking a sheep that already had a bad leg and then suddenly – I don't know what came over me – I was out of the car and I punched the guy and he fell into a hill of poo, and I was so shocked I didn't move and I just waited for the guy to leap on me and bind me with handcuffs – "

"So you're saying that you _didn't_ get arrested for attacking Greek monsters, but you got arrested for jumping on an officer for kicking a disabled _sheep_?"

"I didn't jump on him! I stopped – "

"Assaulted."

" – him from picking on an innocent animal! I mean, was that such a bad thing?"

"Clearly, since you're behind bars right now."

"Oh, _please_, Jackson. I didn't even punch _that_ hard. The guy just fell down on a bunch of horse shit and began raving about my constitutional rights as if I don't have them memorized like the back of my hand. It was more like, I dunno, a push."

"On the face."

"Oh my god, I can't believe you're laughing at me! This is _not_ a laughing matter, Perseus Jackson – "

"You just saved a sheep from a dreadful demise! Annabeth, this is progress!"

"You're patronizing me."

"I'm not! It's just… Chiron and PETA are gonna be _so_ proud when they hear about this."

"You're unbelievable."

"There must be photographs of you already posted in the internet. Probably a video or two in Youtube. This I have to see. I'm going to risk my neck typing your name in Google."

"Hey! Would you stop laughing?"

"Unfair, Chase. You're giving me the red light but you're already snickering too? And first Ody, now _this_? I'm seriously having doubts about which one of us is the sane one."

"Hades, Percy! I can't have something that will tarnish my record! This is _absurd_. What the hell am I going to do?"

"Just calm down, Annabeth. You're _not_ going to have a criminal record, I _swear_ to the Styx. I'm sure there are a lot of animal activists in the MIT, or even in the whole Cambridge area – are there? I think there are – and I think PETA would lawyer up and take your side of the story in this matter. And oh! You have a _goddess_ for a mom. Just call in a few favors. What's the worst thing that could happen?"

"I don't know, I don't know. Wait, are you here yet?"

"I am bound for landing, honey. Just hope the Feds don't have the dibs on you or we're all screwed."

"Funny."

"Okay, Annabeth, I'm here. I'm – dammit, why counties don't have parking spaces for handsome demigods, I'll never know… Uhh, yes. Annabeth Chase? Yes, I have the money – I know, right? I totally apologize for the screw up on her behalf; she really loves things with four feet – Oh? Really now? Wow, I'm no longer surprised why my girlfriend roughed him up a bit – Yes, she's my girlfriend. Hot, isn't she? She casually threatens to castrate me every now and then; it's pretty sexy. Uh-huh. Release forms, got it. Hey, Annabeth. You there? You'll be out in about five minutes."

"Oh, thank the gods!"

"Yeah, yeah. I'll just be signing these, uh, questionnaires. Someone's getting you out right now."

"Oh my gods, oh my gods. Thank you, Percy! I can't thank you enough – "

"Hey, hey. You're yelling again. I have, like, half an eardrum and a quarter of a head left. I get you, I get you. Hey, once all this is over, you can repay me by buying me a double dutch ice cream – there's a parlor right across the road. Lack of parking spaces notwithstanding, I am loving this place. You know, we should hang around here sometime."

"Define hang."

"Psscchh. I'm not _that_ gullible. They don't have death penalties in Massachusetts."

"I'm thinking that, as of this moment, they do. What were you saying a while ago? About my castrating you?"

"Sexy."

~0~

**Next Chapter: Step 4: Cooking**

* * *

**A/N: Thank you very much for reading! Please drop a review!**


End file.
